by Kristi Rose
One, and the most likely, they would fight and cancel the whole thing. Sabrina was okay with that. Sure, she wanted to stop a grifter as much as the next person, but there were more ways to skin a cat, and Fort needed to see that.
Or two, they could work together. This would require them addressing the past, but everyone needed to do that at some point in their lives in order to move on, and Cori and Fort were two of the stuckest people she'd met. If this scenario were to happen, then she could rest easy that she helped out two friends.
Lastly, they could fall in love. Sabrina had endless experience, and her gut, her best asset in this business, told her Fort and Cori were perfect for each other. Yes, their histories sucked, but that didn't mean they couldn't change that. Two people looking for acceptance and roots with shared interests and no fear of hard work. Cori had the strength to be a cop's wife, and her deep love of ranching was the cherry on top. Fort's deep desire to do well, combined with his boy scout personality, was the steady quality Cori needed to feel safe.
When Sabrina's phone rang again, she pressed the ignore button. Sitting back in the overstuffed seat, she kicked her heels up onto the coffee table and said a silent prayer they would make the right choice. It was up to them now.
She'd given them the chance at something great. Now they needed to take it.
10
Cori had spent the flight trying to keep her hopes from getting out of control, but she'd created a thousand different fantasies. None of which was her being held accountable for her father's actions once again. Each daydream had been a fresh start, a chance to do something good and be considered a friend, a helper, and a kind person. Because dang it all, she was all those things, but no one affected by her father's greed could see past that. Not that she blamed them. But sometimes, she wanted to. Didn't they understand that every time she looked in the mirror she was reminded of his deeds as well?
Fort's words struck right at her center, a jab to the heart. The sight of her made him sick.
“Yep, that's me, a walking vestige. Aren't I lucky? I wear it well, don't you think?” She stuck her hand on her hip, did a model pose, and followed it with an eye roll.
He glanced at her, then quickly away, almost as if he couldn't stand to look at her. Which very well might be the case.
She reached into her camera bag and took out her phone. She wanted to lash out at someone, anyone, and Sabrina was the obvious choice. All those book club meetings where they talked about how Cori wanted to do right, wanted to be seen beyond her father's egregious acts, and here she was, an accomplice for the man who probably hated her father the most. She texted that exact thing to Sabrina.
Okay, accomplice might be a strong word. Fort wasn't a criminal, but he was essentially proposing to run a con. And she was his sidekick.
Irony at its finest. One day she was going to get a normal job without people like Mitzi and do all things normal. Like watch TV, have friends, and maybe get a dog.
Fort Besingame was so far from normal it wasn't funny. Take his shoulders, for example. They were so broad she half expected his shirt to rip down the back when he reached across his chest and pulled his phone from his breast pocket. How about his height? Yeah, most guys were over six feet, but not all of them carried themselves like Fort. Where they lumbered, he strolled and, for lack something less cheesy, he was essentially a pillar of strength. She knew his dark skin came from his Spanish mother, with some help from the sun; his slate gray eyes were from his father. As was that stupid strong superman chin of his, butt dimple and all. Though she supposed, on him, the dimple didn't make his chin look like a butt as it did on some others. Crap on a cracker, if she didn't find him so repulsive and, well, carrying a crap-ton of guilt thanks to dear old Dad, she'd find Fort Besingame kinda hot. Even his stupid, long fingers stabbing at his phone were appealing.
“So, we're calling this a no go, right?” She needed to make a plan soon. Maybe Sabrina would pay her some of the money. She might have to stay with her mom to get on her feet, Lord help her, but now that she had the idea of a fresh start firmly planted, she wasn't about to de-root it.
“I don't see any other choice. There's no way we could fake a friendship, much less romantic interest.” His gaze swept to her chest, and Cori instinctively thrust her shoulders back, pushing her chest out.
“Give up,” she said as she watched him disconnect the phone and try again. “She's not going to answer. I've texted her tons even before I saw you, and it’s been silent.”
“A communication blackout,” he said and lowered his phone.
She nodded. “I suppose she wants us to figure this out ourselves. Maybe I'm your one-shot deal.”
Fort shifted, tucked his phone in his shirt pocket, and crossed his arms over his chest. Cori watched to see if the muscles from his forearms or biceps would burst through the straining cotton cloth.
“She wants me to put my trust in you? Come on, that might be asking too much.” He raised a corner of his lip in distaste.
Cori's temper flared. As had been her habit over the last decade, she went to squash it, to play nice and not add fuel to the never-ending fire, but this wasn't Brewster and she didn't have to make Fort like her. There was no chance of that. Besides, she was so very tired of keeping it all in, of being a chump. Sometimes it felt like she might choke on it all. Her only crime was being born to the wrong people. Cori stepped close to him, her head reaching only as far as his chin, so she had to tilt her head back. Way back.
“You listen here, Fort Be-so-lame.” She poked a finger into his chest. “Essentially, you're trying to run a con on your entire town. Will your mom be in on it? My guess is she won't.” His gaze darted away, and she had her answer. “I knew it. So don't stand there all tall and mighty—”
“High and mighty.”
“That, too. But make no mistake, you're no better than me at this moment. Difference is this con isn't my idea and the end game isn't my prize.” She gave one final jab into his rock-hard chest. The man was made of steel.
He placed a hand on the top of her head, holding her still, and stepped back. “Easy there small-fry. It's not that I think I'm better. It's that I wonder how we'll pull it off. We don't really like each other much.” When he removed his hand, he accidentally brushed her shoulder, and Cori experienced a ripple of goose bumps on that side.
Revulsion. Had to be. She wanted him to do it again just to be sure. Cripes, she was messed up. She was so needy for affection that even grossness felt good.
“I suppose Sabrina thought we could do it,” she said, thinking out loud while picturing Fort nuzzling her neck. How would she respond? More goosebumps broke out. She jerked her attention back to him and snapped her fingers. “Oh, Sabrina sent this box to you.” She dug in her camera bag and came out with a long, slender white box big enough to hold a thin wallet. Curiosity was killing Cori. She hadn't opened it on the plane. Mainly because the sides were taped, and she hadn't figured out how to peel them back without tearing at the box.
“What is it?” he asked.
Cori looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “It's kryptonite.”
He glanced at her, disbelief furrowing his brow.
“How should I know? It's taped shut.” She sighed loudly with exasperation. Hoping he'd realize she thought he was a moron. In case there was any doubt.
Fort dug a pocketknife from the front of his jeans, pushed the blade out, and then cut the tape. He was moving so dang slow Cori had to clench her fingers into her palms to keep from snatching the box from him and opening it. It had been forever since she'd been given a gift, and even though this one wasn't technically for her, it felt like it had something to do with her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming at him to hurry.
Once his knife was returned to the comfort of his pocket, Fort returned his attention to the box. “Wanna take a guess before I open it?”
She glanced at him. Was he teasing her? There was a slight quirk to his lips. She made a valiant attemp
t to act blasé. “Maybe it's your invoice for her services?”
“Fancy way to present that, don't you think?”
“Sabrina is pretty fancy.” Impulsively, she reached for the box, but jerked her hand back when her fingers touched the top. To cover her embarrassment, she said sassily, “You could just open it so we know what's inside.”
Fort chuckled then wiggled the top off. When he lifted it, Cori moved in closer.
He asked, “Is that a diamond ring?” Inside were two cards and a ring tied by ribbon to a cushion. The white stone sparkled.
“Maybe it’s cubic zirconia or moissanite.” She stared at the large gem.
“‘No Man is an Island’ by John Donne,” he said and lifted the first card. He turned it so she could see the poem had been printed on the back.
Cori snickered.
“This must be for you,” he said and handed it to her.
The paper was heavy and thick. “I'm pretty sure it's for you.” She placed it back in the box. The other card was Sabrina's business card. White card stock with the word HOPE embossed on the top, her name and information in metallic, navy ink. “Why she put her business card in here makes no sense. We know how to get ahold of her.”
It was Fort's turn to chuckle. “Yeah, and she better hope that when I do, I keep my tone civil.”
Cori went for Sabrina's card, thinking something might be written on the back, just as Fort went to replace the lid. She bumped his hand and the box flipped over, dumping everything on the floor. The ring skittered to a stopping beneath the underside of a trashcan.
Cori went for the cards and the box, Fort the ring, having to get on his knees to reach it. He had turned, put one foot on the floor to stand while handing her the ring, when they were interrupted.
“Classy Fort, asking a girl to marry you in an airport. And have you told her yet you're doing it to win an election?”
Cori turned and looked up at another tall cowboy, this one blond and a tad on the thin side. He had an even smile that would likely be engaging if he wasn't sneering at Fort. She glanced at the new guy's chest and, unbidden, pictured it bare. She mentally compared his sunken chest to Fort's broad, manly one.
Fort, on one knee, the ring still attached to its cotton bed by ribbon. His arm extended was toward her, the ring on his palm. It sure could be misinterpreted.
Cori swiped it off his hand.
“Are you following me Deke, or do you actually have a purpose here?” Fort stood and moved to stand next to her.
“I'm here picking up my campaign manager. Not that I need one. I could literally do nothing and win this race.” He looked down at Cori and winked. “You're nothing like I pictured, but you're cute.” He extended his hand. “I'm Deke Sutton.”
“Cori Walters,” she said without thinking, then quickly glanced at Fort. Had he given them another name and she’d just jacked up the entire plan? He was staring at Deke.
“You're serious that you brought in a campaign manager?” Fort asked.
“Of course. With the insurance company and working for the county, I didn't want to split my attention from those jobs. My first priority is the people.” Deke dropped Cori's hand but his attention was all hers. He wagged his brows as he stepped closer, as if they were good friends and not people who had just met. With a crooked grin he asked, “So, did you say yes?” His voice was laced with happy curiosity.
She was getting the charm job. Deke Sutton was a golden boy with a twinkly smile. There was something boyish about him that was appealing, and he knew it. He used it. Yet, she saw something else. A sadness around him. Had she not spent the last decade being sad, she might not have recognized it since he covered it so well with cockiness and snark.
“Ah…” She glanced at Fort who was staring intently at her. Probably trying to melt her mind or will her into doing something. She knew from all those years back he was a control freak. “Have you decided if you are running for sheriff too, darling?” She used her best beauty pageant voice. She hoped he'd pick up on her real question. Was he in or was he out? She needed to know how to proceed.
Fort gave Deke a look that said he was sizing him up, then he turned his attention back to Cori. “I think I will run, short stuff,” he said, using the nickname he'd called her all those years ago. Before everything imploded.
For a brief moment, Cori had to blink back the moisture gathering in her eyes. She gave into the impulse and threw her arms around his waist. “Yay! I'm so excited.” Dang it, he smelled good. A little like camping and cows and a whole lot like she should move away quickly. She couldn't explain why, but she was glad to be staying and giving this ruse a go.
11
Her camera bag bumped into her as she held onto Fort's waist. Feeling ridiculous and like a little girl, she tried to covertly move away from the embrace, but he held on. He tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Real close. Under his armpit close and, stupid as she was, she didn't mind.
One time in high school she'd seen him making out with some big-breasted cheerleader. The way he'd leaned into her, his leg between her knees, his arms around her, had been Cori's first up close and for real display of foreplay. Seeing couples make out on TV hadn't been the same after, less heated, and she'd spent many restless nights going over it all in her head. She'd always been curious about what it would feel like to have his affection and undivided attention. Sniffing his pit was likely the closest she'd get, and so be it. She'd check it off the list of things she'd been inquisitive about.
Touch alone was heady stuff, made her feel loopy as though she'd chugged a growler or something. Not that she ever had, but she'd seen people do it. When they'd stagger away, stupid grin on their face, she imagined it felt much like this moment.
For a second, she imagined how awesome it would be if Fort was the sort of guy she could really get into. Or more specifically, she was the sort he liked, but Cori was too short and not blond enough for him. Plus, she had no boobs. Zilch. She let the fantasy deflate like a balloon.
Deke's sudden movement toward them, the thrusting of his hand toward Fort, broke Cori from her mental wanderings.
They were talking about the special election.
“Don't get it stuck in your head that I'm running because you want me to. I'm running because I'll make a darn good Sheriff and you won't. I'm running because—”
“You can't see me get something you want," Deke said and flashed a crooked grin. “I look forward to running against you.”
The two shook hands, neither smiling, though there was a lift to Deke's mouth. It puzzled Cori he wasn't more upset to find out he was now running against someone versus unopposed.
She reached into her camera bag and pulled out the people seer—as she liked to call it— aimed it at Deke, and held down the shutter release. The camera hid nothing, and she couldn't wait to see these pictures.
“Smile, Deke,” she said. “If any of these are good, I'll send them your way. Maybe you can use them in your campaign.” She wagged her brows and kept her finger on the button.
“I would love that, Cori,” he said and waved over someone from behind them.
A thick-around-the-middle man approached them. He was older, his hair combed over to one side to hide the undeniable thinning, and his eyes were narrowed slits. There was something smarmy about him. It was the same gut-churning warning she would get when her father's “colleagues” would come to the house and they'd lock themselves in his office for hours. Fort must have felt it, too, since he stiffened beside her.
“This here is my campaign manager,” Deke said. “Fort, Cori, this is Conway Witty. He's going to spearhead my campaign. Con, this is Cori…” He gestured to her to fill in the blank.
“Walters.”
“And Fort Besingame, my opponent.” Deke made the introductions.
Cori leaned toward Deke. “Did you say Conway Twitty?” It took a lot not to laugh out loud.
It was then Cori saw the man had a wad of chew in his cheek.
He produced a plastic water bottle from his back pocket and spat in it. “It's Witty. My folks were big country music fans.”
Having a politically aspiring con man for a dad and a wannabe actress for a mom, her BS meter was finely tuned, and Mr. Witty was sounding it something fierce. “You don't say. They must have really loved him, and how fortuitous your family surname is Witty. Like it was meant to be.” She squeezed Fort's side, hoping he'd do whatever lawman did and come away with some clues about Mr. Witty.
“And you're hanging out at the airport with your opponent because...?” Witty asked Deke.
“Oh, I happened to come upon them. Lame-oh Fort here was proposing.”
“Actually, that's not true,” Fort said. “I'd already asked Cori to marry me a while back. I'd just picked up her ring from the jewelers.” Fort nudged her, and she sprang into action.
“Right!” She'd been clutching the ring and its cotton bed in her hand and now showed them to the men.
Deke whistled. “Look at that rock.” He rubbed his chin. “I sure hope he was romantic, Cori, and glad he wasn't proposing here in this dirty, busy airport.”
Cori gave him a smile. She wasn't about to create any more lies than she had to.
“Because when I proposed to my wife, it was perfect. Took me two weeks to plan out.” Deke looked away, perhaps lost in a memory, then suddenly jerked his attention back to her. “It should be special and a memory you can hold on to forever. Congratulations,” he said and clapped her on the back.
“Yours sounds very special. I'm sure it means just as much to her as it does you.” Cori patted his arm. How wondrous would it be to have someone make a grand gesture for her? She couldn't even imagine it.
Fort took the ring from her and untied the ribbon. He picked up her left hand and slid on the heavy stone. Cori refused to look at it. Instead, she preferred to see things through her camera. After lifting it from the bag, she snapped a few shots of her hand and then went for her main target. Good old Conway.
